Crack.
There is pain, yes. But on the other side of pain is relief. Sweet surrender. A part of me craves the next blow even as the hurt deepens.
Crack.
“Yes,” I cry out, shocking myself—and him, judging from the way he pauses. I freeze, shame heating my chest. A moment later, Krampus steps up beside me. A rough hand grabs my face from behind and lifts it, forcing me to look up at him towering above me. Tears blur my vision, so it is impossible to read his expression.
“We should move on,” he says. His voice sounds rougher than normal, deep and gravelly in a way that goes straight to the damp heat between my legs. “Before I lose control.”
I release a shaky breath. “I… I can take more.”
He chuckles darkly. “And you will, little sinner. Later.” His other hand grabs me around the waist, and he lifts me to my feet. His grip lingers for a moment longer as my trembling legs steady beneath me. Then he releases me and walks away without looking back.
I wipe my eyes and take a moment to gather myself. What the hell was that? I’m a mess, tears streaming down my face and back aching. But when I reach back to assess the damage, I find raised welts but no blood.
He was holding back. I’m sure he was. This really was just a taste of the justice he intends to deal.
I should not be excited at the prospect of more. I swallow back my emotions, ignore the lingering ache between my thighs, and follow Krampus to continue seeking our revenge.
Chapter
Sixteen
Krampus and I spend a good hour exploring the cabin, searching for any hidden spaces or other entrances to the panic room. On the first floor directly beneath the lounge is a tucked-away laundry room, noticeably smaller than the room sitting atop it. There’s not enough space for a panic room to sit behind the wall, but there must be the stairwell I caught a glimpse of, leading further down.
I suspect from the start that we won’t find another way in; there clearly was a reason that the family chose to gather in that room, and Louis was always eager to return to it after a couple of minutes away.
Louis. That coward. I can’t believe he left me,again. If I had any qualms about what I’m doing to him and his family, that action erased them.
As I explore the cabin and consider its layout, I become more and more certain that the panic room must be somewhere below the first floor, in a hidden basement. There’s nowhere else that would make sense. But I can’t find any way to get down there, not even in the form of a laundry or garbage chute. Because of course they wouldn’t dirty their panic room with such things, knowing they might be forced to retreat there for the night.
“We could light the cabin on fire,” I suggest, when we’re done exploring other options. We’re still in the laundry room. I lean against a wall, wincing as I put pressure on my abused back. It hurts, but… there’s something satisfying in the hurt, like a pleasant soreness after being thoroughly fucked.
Krampus glances at me, and I press my thighs together, wondering if he can smell my arousal like he smells my sin. He looks so disapproving…
“The panic room is likely fireproof,” he says. Because of course, he’s thinking about my arson plan,notwhether or not I’m turned on right now. I should do the same.
“Right,” I say. “And the smoke will rise, so that’s no good…” I pause, nibbling my lip. Fire won’t work, but there’s something there that pings my instincts. Fire. Smoke. Air… “They still need air,” I say, realizing. I push away from the wall, wincing again, and search around the room with renewed vigor. “There have to be vents.”
Krampus watches me. “Vents,” he repeats, skeptical.
“Yes! They’ll still need airflow, and so…” I push aside a hamper and find an air intake low on the wall. “Here’s one. I just need a screwdriver, or…”
Krampus reaches down and rips the metal covering right off the wall.
“Or that works.” I crouch and squint at the dark, dusty passageway. I see it turn downward at the end, which means this probably leads to the basement. “Perfect.”
Krampus’s skepticism has only increased. “Tell me you do not intend to climb into that thing.”
“What? Hell, no.” I laugh, straightening up. “It’s way too small. Here, follow me, I need to find some cleaning supplies.”
Krampus still seems baffled,but at least he trusts me enough to follow as I search the house. Soon, we return to the air vent with a huge bottle of bleach and an equally huge bottle of vinegar. Simple, innocent cleaning supplies that just about everybody has on hand… and when combined, they create?—
“Chlorine gas,” I explain with a smile. “It’s nasty. Smells terrible, and feels even more terrible when you breathe it in. Burning, coughing, breathing problems… and, well, death, if you breathe in too much. And the best part?” I eye the vent again. “It’s heavier than air, so it will sink right down into the basement. They’ll have to either stay there and suffocate to death, or run for the exit.”
For a moment, Krampus is silent. I wonder if he’s decided I’m even more wicked than he thought, that maybe he’s made a mistake working with me. But when I look up at him, he grins at me with a proud sort of viciousness.
“I would never have thought to do such a thing,” he says. “You are brilliant.”
